Warhammer 40000: Vermintide
by IgnusDei
Summary: A long-forgotten threat re-emerges from the hidden corners of the Warp, and it is up to a disgraced space marine and his team of misfits, bastards, and broken things to stop it. It is the end of the 41st Millenium. This is the start of the Vermintide.
1. The Gathering, Chapter 1

_In the eastern fringes of the galaxy there is a ship in the shape of a church, painted the purest black, its running lights extinguished to blend in the deep darkness of the space that normally surrounded it._

 _Inside, mounted on the walls of a dark hall faintly lit by candles made of synthetic wax and wicks laced with fuel, unmoving gargoyles stare down as two Grey Knights drag a barely conscious man by the arms. Their prisoner is clad only in chains, manacles, worn pants, and the wounds left by chaos-inflicted wounds, slowly giving way to the marks of the tender ministrations of the Inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus – the Daemon Hunters._

 _The cell door creaks open, and the prisoner is tossed inside. Briefly, the light from the hall lights his face. His hair is dark, long and unkempt, just like his beard. His face is haggard, and dirty, and lined with weariness. From that alone, no one could guess he had once led men into battle. Only his considerable size and the two studs on his forehead serve as clues to his true identity._

 _Once upon a time he was known as Valorius Titus, Captain of the Ultramarine's third company. Once he was a hero to an entire Forge World._

 _Once, he had been a Space Marine._

 _Once, he was one of the finest warriors of the Imperium of Man._

 _Now, he is just another heretic._

 _I watch him, and judge his worth..._

* * *

 _Warhammer 40k is the property of Games Workshop_

 **Warhammer 40 000:**

 **Vermintide**

ACT 1: The Gathering

Chapter 1: The heretic, part 1

* * *

 **-The Oubliettes-**

" _I believe that we will uncover many truths, Space Marine."_ Inquisitor Thrax's words echo in Titus' mind, a memory of Graia, the forge world where he had fought his fateful battle against an Ork horde and the heretical forces of Chaos, culminating with a free-falling duel with the Chaos Sorceror Nemeroth. As reward for his valour and victory, Titus had been branded a heretic and taken into custody by the Ordo Malleus.

After all, common wisdom dictated that no one touched by Chaos walked away uncorrupted, and after bathing in warp energies and doing just that, Titus had been accused of consorting with Ruinous Powers for protection.

"Liar," replies Titus, muttering, in his grim, dark prison cell. There had been no uncovering of the truth. Oh, there had been tests: tests of faith, tests of purity, tests of blood and even tests of lore. But in the end, Thrax had not cared one whit about the truth, only in keeping Titus here, on this damnable Black Ship, run by the Inquisition and its thralls of servitors.

His only company were other Space Marines, clad in silver armour. They were a silent bunch, not prone to idle chatter among themselves. These marines only spoke to him when it was time for an exam. Always, he complied with their demands: _kneel, hands on head, make no sudden movements._ The bolters – fully automatic mini-rocket launchers — were always trained on his head as they shackled his arms and legs together, a silent warning: _disobey and your death will be immediate._

He always obeyed, always. Not out of fear for his life... but hope, hope that his compliance would play a part in his exoneration.

And then, one day, the tests had stopped. Gone was Titus' only distraction from the isolation of the cell. The only glimpses of life beyond this cramped space were the arms of servitors delivering him his meals and reclaiming the trays through a hatch in the door.

The meals. _Emperor protects, the meals!_ Always consisting of a flavourless block of protein with a side of vitamin slop, and a tankard of water. It hadn't been so bad, at first, but before long Titus began to dream longingly for a single piece of fruit. _Was this another form of torture?_ he once wondered. Now, after a hundred meals, he knows it is.

Titus believed that the myriad Inquisitors that had taken an interest in him had now switched tactics. Pain would not get them what they want. Madness borne of isolation and boredom, that just might do.

 _Say nothing, claim nothing, admit nothing,"_ Thrax had once whispered to him. _"No matter what they do to you. Your life depends on it."_ Truly enough, some of the other Inquisitors had often tried to trap him with trick questions, to draw out flimsy admissions of heresy — truth be damned! — to justify a prompt execution. To These ones, his only reply then had always been a cold, silent glare.

 _This will be my life now,_ Titus had thought, weeks after his isolation had begun. Eat the slop, perform the physical rites, Eat the slop, perform the Spiritual rites, Eat the slop, Pray to the Emperor, go to sleep. The same routine, every day.

Every day.

...

Every day.

...

Every. Day.

 _How long have I been here?_ Titus wonders one day. He's just realized: he's lost count of the meals. They always gave him three square meals, every day. He's lost count of the times he went to sleep. Did he ever count? Did they even care if he was well-rested?

 _Years, decades, perha—_

BOOM.

The cell rumbles and shakes, snapping Titus out of his meandering thoughts. More blasts come, more rumbling... the sounds are unmistakable: the scream of klaxons, the roar of guns, the searing of lascannons... and the impact of boarding torpedoes. The Black Ship is under attack.

" _All hands to battlestations! Repeat, all hands to battlestations!"_

There's shouting outside, even as the captain's voice roars through the inter-vox system. Titus wants nothing more than to answer the call, a chance to prove his loyalty to the Imperium once again... or perhaps, an honourable death.

"Let me out!" he shouts and spits desperately through the barred window of the thick metal door that kept him trapped inside his cell. He grasps the bars, and shakes, but the door does not yield at all.

Two Space Marines in gleaming silver armour ignore him as they run by his cell door. A third one follows, but then, the hall's lights flicker and die, and a sickly green glow permeates the air, as a miasma spews from the vents and clings to the floor. Tendrils of green smoke fly up at the Space Marine's head, and penetrate his helmet's seal. The Marine drops his bolter, convulses, and his armour snap and break at the seams, revealing flesh.

"SOMEONE HELP!" Titus shouts, "A BROTHER NEEDS AID!" The only reply that comes is the distant noise of bolter fire echoing through the black steel halls, and the unearthly toll of a bell so powerful he attempts to shield his ears from the noise. In horror he watches as the Space Marine continues his metamorphosis: Hair grows on the exposed flesh, scraggly bristles, thicker than a boar. The glove's fingers tear, revealing yellowing claws, sharp enough to tear armor, and finally, the helmet is thrown off, revealing the creature's face.

That of a rat.

A sneering, vile rat, now twice the size of a Space Marine.

And it is looking straight at Titus. It snarls, hisses, and begins raking the door with his claws. Titus looks around, Astartes training kicking in, hoping to find any advantage – a weapon, a way out, anything – but all he has to work with is the metal tray his meal had been dumped on, and a toilet.

By the time the huge rat had torn off the door, Titus had been ready.

The oversized porcelain toilet smashes into the giant rat's face, shattering into a hundred pieces, stunning the creature long enough for Titus to charge in with the tray folded with his bare hands into a shiv. Titus went for the eye, guiding the sharp piece of metal into the beady mass of vitrous humor. The creature screams in agony, and took a swipe at the prisoner.

Titus ducks and rolls underneath the slashing swipe, and dives for the former Marine's bolter carbine. His aim is quick, and he looses a burst of three rocket-propelled munitions, two aimed at the chest and one to the face. The rounds find their mark, their mass-reactive fuses detonating the bolts' explosive charges deep in the monsters flesh.

Even wounded and torn apart, the giant ratman did not fall. Adrenaline surges in the monster's blood, augmented by corrupted bio-augmentations, keeping it alive despite the sheer damage done to its flesh. It swipes at Titus, grazing his arms and chest, smashing the bolter to pieces. Quickly, Titus finds himself wrestling with the creature, using its oversized upper mass against it, but he begins to lose, badly, until desperation and his own fury kicks in. With headbutt after headbutt into the creature's ruined face, Titus screams, louder and louder, until his own face is covered in blood and pieces of wet bone. The giant rat's fortitude is overcome, and it falls on its back from the onslaught, dead. Titus leaps on it and begins to stomp on its skull with his bare foot, just to make sure.

Now certain that the creature has been slain, Titus stops, and breathes a sigh of relief. But he has no time to feel elation at that victory, nor to take a moment to appreciate that he had just broken free of his cell, unchained and unescorted. Screams echo in the halls, mixed with weapons fire, which means there is still a battle to fight.

He begins recovering what wargear he can from the dead mutant, and finds a Phobos pattern Bolt Pistol with a ten inch barrel along with a spare mag, a combat knife, and three grenades. He leaves the spare magazines for the larger bolter as is – the Marine's belt had been ruined by the metamorphosis and the pockets of his own pants only have so much room.

All-in-all, a somewhat sub-standard loadout.

"I've started campaigns with less," Titus says out loud, before heading towards the screams.

[V]

* * *

 **-Hallway 0451-**

" _Alert..."_ drones the the servitor hooked up to the ship's loudspeaker system. His voice barely cuts over the alarm. _"Cell block 0451 has been breached. All available Marines converge and secure. Repeat: Alert..."_

Nobody answers the call.

Leaving the prison block had been a bit difficult – a long, dizzying quest of fetching the right keycard for the right door — but Titus eventually emerges into the common halls of the ship, greeted by the red glow of the emergency lighting that turned the blood on the corroded titanium walls a gleaming black. Graffiti had been scratched on the walls, punctuated with a triangle symbol.

As he strides through the hall of the nameless black ship, Titus' hopes of linking up with his fellow marines diminish. Wherever he goes, all he finds are the corpses. Corpses of his jailers, corpses of Imperial Guardsmen at their side, and the corpses of their killers.

Titus took quick glances at the Marines' corpses as he strode on, their unpainted suits of ceramite armour had been rended, pierced and even torn, exposing the organs of their wearers.

The fallen marines had been picked clean of their wargear – no grenades, no bolters, no magazines are left. "Even Orks wait until the battle is over before looting," Titus says out loud, then sighs. "Blast, nothing to salvage." Not even lasguns.

But the hundreds of _xeno_ corpses are certainly not Orks: more like rat-people, in fact, but much smaller than Titus' first encounter with the creatures. These are the size of mere men and women, but hunched over, making them seem more diminutive. _Ratlings?_ Titus wonders. _No, even those mutants are more men that rats. These are more rat than men. Man-Rats._

Titus examined their gear. They are clad in makeshift armour that could provide the barest protection from Lasguns, and armed with spears cobbled together from metal pipes, nuts, bolts, and even duct tape... but whether it was a pick, a spear, or even a knife, the rat-men's arms each had mounted on them a single glowing green shard of varying sizes, but of undeniable sharpness... and a _wrongness_ that repels Titus so much he can't bear the thought of touching them.

Titus gets a real close look at the edge of a shard when one of the man-rats, playing dead, attempts to behead him with a crystal hatchet. Titus proves quicker, and buries his combat knife into his insidious attacker's brains.

Titus moves on, now more wary than ever.

[V]

* * *

"The ship is almost oursss!" he hears someone hiss around a corner. Titus' barefooted steps are quiet – Scout training, it never really goes away — as he stalks towards the sound. Peering around the corner, he sees a group of live man-rats, six of them, looting the corpses of Imperial Guard MPs. A couple of them aren't clad in the cobbled-together armour of their comrades. Instead, torn Imperial Navy uniforms hang from their hunched forms. They aren't even armed the same – one had a guardsman's riot shotgun, the other a length of metal pipe. The rest of the man-rats snicker and sneer at these two, as if they are nobles looking down on mere peasants.

"Ssstupid Convertsss," a man-rat hisses. This one is lugging an auto-gun. "Look at them, jussst look at them! Still clad in their manling trappings!"

Titus checks his pistol's mag. Eight bolts. He would have to be frugal with his shots, for now.

"I know!" screeches another. That one wore a cloak and kept a pair of large glowing punch daggers at the ready. "Can barely talk!"

"C-c-can talk!" stutters one of the Navy man-rats. "F-f-flesh... still re-re-rebelling!"

The autogun-wielding rat laughs mockingly in response. The 'convert' tosses an empty mag at him, and misses, prompting more laughter.

"We don't neeeeds them!" says the one with with a crystal-tipped spear. "I sssay we k-kill them and split the loot four ways instead of sssix!"

"I'm not splitting anything with you sorry lot!" That one wields a large crystal pick, and seems to be the most intimidating of the bunch. "I take from what the man-things I kill – from all that I kill," his lowers, as if he's getting ready to impale his brethren, "You understand?"

There is a tense moment when it seems like they would kill one another, saving Titus the trouble of having to kill them all, until...

"Wait... S-s-s-mmeeeeeelll-see... ssssomething," says the other 'convert', getting the rest of the group's attention. "Sssmellsss like... MANFLESH! Sweat-stinkin' man-thing's MANFLESH!"

Cursing the lack of showers in the prison, Titus shoots the autogun rat first, right in the head. The explosive bolt explodes deep inside its skull, sending bone shrapnel into the nearest man-rat, the one with the spear. The cloaked one dove for cover just as Titus shot the shotgun rat, and proceeds to charge the rest with his knife. They are nowhere near as tough as the mutated marine from earlier, and a few swipes chopped them into pieces.

The cloaked rat drops a tiny glass globe at its feet, and vanishes in a cloud of black smoke. Titus knew better to try and wade into that cloud of smoke to find him, and waits for it to clear, hoping to spot that telltale glow of its blades.

Titus strains his senses... and it appears the cloaked rat is gone.

More on-site procurement: the autogun's had been ruined by the bolt's shrapnel, but the shotgun is made of sterner stuff, and it even comes with a strap, allowing Titus to sling it over his shoulder. There is also an intact riot shield with a stun club holstered on the inside. Titus takes it, reasoning that as far as protection went, it is a lot better than bare skin.

That's when the cloaked rat comes back, bringing friends.

Lots of friends.

Too many friends.

Titus attempts to hold the swarm at bay with the shotgun. The pellet spread is fairly wide, allowing him to build a barricade of dead rats that the rest have to stumble over to get to him. A sound tactic, but it is no use: the digitigrade legs on these man-rats are quick and powerful, and their owners lack any qualms about stampeding over their wounded, nevermind their dead. Titus retreats, dropping a live grenade behind him as he sprints towards more defensible ground. The blast buys him time, just enough to find a smaller, tighter corridor to make his stand.

"KILL THE ONE!" screeches the cloaked assassin from behind the mob of man-rats. "KILL HIM IN THE NAME OF THE BELL RINGER!"

They funnel themselves as they charge at him, and with a raised riot shield he meets them, stabbing their digusting faces with the combat knife, over and over again, one after the other. Those that manage to flank him get shield bashed down, and are promptly trampled over by their brethren, who are all too eager to be the one to land the killing blow.

More man-rats come out of the of air vents, attempting to attack him from behind. A shield bash bowls away dozens amidst the attacking mob in a spectacular kinetic chain reaction, giving him time to deal with the would-be backstabbers.

Adrenaline surges through Titus' body, triggering his long dormant Larraman's organ into sustaining his body, preventing his death by blood loss due to the handful of lucky cuts scored by his attackers. Years of malnourishment begin to take their toll Titus' body: every powerful shield bash taxes him, depleting his stamina. Unconsciously, his breath becomes ragged, and that's the moment the assassin rat had been waiting for to pounce.

Titus' eyes catch the glow of the crystal-bladed punch daggers in the periphery of his vision, blurring towards him, and his reflexes galvanize him into bringing up his shield for another slam. The cloaked rat's leap, however, proves more powerful than expected, and Titus falls on his back, the shield the only barrier between the assassin's blades and himself. The blades pierce the shield easily, and it begins to be torn by the flurry of stabs aimed at Titus' chest.

Before he can even think to counter attack, Titus hears the roar of long guns, spitting buckshot and autogun rounds into the mob.

"Get off him you vermin!" he hears someone yell in Low Gothic. "Keep shooting!" _Survivors!_ He exclaims in his thoughts. Titus pushes the assassin away, hoping its body would catch a few rounds of gunfire. Instead, it performs its disappearing trick once again, leaving its fellow rat-men to die to the combined gunfire of a Guardsman fireteam and the cold knife of an angry Space Marine.

"We are victorious..." says Titus, wiping sweat and blood from his brow, looking at hundred or so fresh corpses that surround him. He turns to his saviours. "Thank you."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," says their leader, his voice rough like gravel. The Imperial Guard — a sergeant, judging by the chevrons on his uniform — is old, well past retirement age, if the lines on his face and his grey hair are anything to go by. His physique, however, is lean and muscular. He, along with his two Guardsman, is clad in white fatigues, and dark red carapace armour. "Are you good to go?" He nods slightly at Titus's bare chest, covered in blood and cuts. "Do you need patching up?"

"Most of the blood is not mine," answers Titus mattter-of-factly. "I will be fine."

"Good," says the Sergeant. "Follow my lead, and keep your eyes peeled. We're not out of the woods yet."

[V]

* * *

 **-Tramway 2-**

"Clear," says Titus, scanning the cabin down the sights of his shotgun, and he beckons the three guardsmen accompanying him to come in.

Imperial cruisers are vast, and the Inquisitorial Black Ship Titus had been imprisoned in is no exception – at almost three kilometers in length, it is a small city unto itself, and even small cities need rapid transit systems to get around. Thus, all Imperial capital ships had tram systems built across their considerable length.

Making their way to the nearest one had cost them a great deal of ammo, and Titus' riot shield, but thankfully, no casualties.

"Where to, sir?" asks a Guardsman. He istall, and fair-skinned under his helmet. Couldn't be much older than thirty standard. He carries an a scoped autogun.

"Station 4," replies the sergeant.

The guardsman give him a look. "We're really doing this, sir?"

"We are."

The guardsman works the tram's controls, and the cabin closes as its motors came to life, running on auxiliary power. The lights come on, a bright white from neon tubes mounted the ceilings that lit its occupants harshly. The Sergeant finally takes a good look at Titus.

"Who the hell are you, anyways?" he demands, not caring one bit that Titus was easily thrice his size.

"I am Captain Valorius Titus, of the Ultramarines, Second Company."

The sergeant cocks his eyebrow. "Huh. You hardly ever see a Space Marine without his armour," he comments. "But you're definitely military." He sniffs. "I'm Sergeant Miles Warrick, 55th Kaladan Fusilliers, first company." He points his thumb over his shoulder. "The young fella behind me is Private Maxson..."

"Sir," salutes the Private.

The sergeant continues: "And that there is Specialist Merril." He points at the other guardsman. "Squad Medic."

"H-hello," the red-haired woman is definitely younger than Maxson, but she has a haunted look that told Titus she had seen too many horrors much too quickly. A medic's armband was loosely wrapped around her left bicep. She carries a submachine gun, the pattern of which Titus doesn't recognize, and a large medkit is slung over her shoulder. "Do you need any aid? You look hurt."

"Think nothing of it, save your supplies," Titus says, his tone reassuring.

"Nice of ya," says Warrick. "Mind explaining why a half-naked Ultramarine is doing on this boat? You're obviously not friends with the Grey ones."

Titus hesitates to reply for a moment, then: "The Inquisition believes me to be a heretic. The grey marines were my jailors."

Merrill's eyes widen. "This... this is an Inquisition prison ship?!"

"You... had no idea?" says Titus. _Once again, the Inquisition wants its absolute secrecy as well as its due in manpower,_ he thinks.

Merrill shakes her head in response.

"Makes sense," says Warrick. "Our assignment on this ship was suspect. Even the sailors had been freshly assigned."

"Is that all that remains of your squad?" asks Titus.

"Pretty much," replies Warrick. "We just came from Engineering, the ratmen have overrun it. It's only a matter of time before they take the bridge, or set the reactor to blow."

"You aim to escape, then?"

The Sergeant nods. "This ship's done for. Station 4 gets us close to one of the main shuttle bays. There should be a small transport there, capable of limited warp travel." He gives Titus a look. "There's room for you, if you help us get to it."

"I shall aid you," says Titus, nodding.

"Oh, thank the Emperor," Merrill sighs with relief. "I thought you'd drag us into a glorious last stand, or something."

"We're here, sir," says Maxson. Truly enough, the tram begins to slow down as it arrives at station 4.

"Get up, Merrill," orders Warrick. "While you're at it, give Titus a Stimpack."

Titus frowns. "I told you..."

"It's for us, mostly," interrupts Merrill, giving him a sturdy-looking hypo. "If any one of us goes down, inject this anywhere on our bodies, just press the silver tip against the skin and push the red button."

"Well get right back up," says Maxson, smiling. "All piss and vinegar and with a steel boner to boot."

Titus pockets the Stimpack, and readies his stun club and combat knife as Warrick and Maxson stack up on the on sliding doors, expecting another swarm of rat men to greet them as soon as they stepped out.

They are not disappointed.

[V]

 **End of Part 1**

* * *

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	2. The Gathering, Chapter 1 part 2

_**Early Author's notes:**_ _Tried using the present tense earlier, but I'm so used to using the past tense I couldn't keep it all consistent. So back to the past we go!_

[V]

 _Warhammer 40k is the property of Games Workshop_

 **Warhammer 40 000:**  
 **Vermintide**

[V]

* * *

ACT 1: The Gathering

The heretic, part 2

[V]

* * *

 **-Station 4-**

* * *

Moments after engaging another swarm, Titus heard the familiar, telltale whirring sound that rotary guns made just before they roared to spit bullets, and his conditioned reflexes allowed him to quickly spot the gunner. A large, portly man-rat stood down a hall, out of cover, his entire body framed with some sort of barebones mechanical skeleton that whirred and creaked as he brought his spinning weapon to bear. It cackled maniacally as it trained his massive belt-fed weapon at Titus's group.

"RATATAT!" it yelled, gleefully.

"MAXSON!" Titus shouted. "HEAVY GUNNER AT YOUR THREE O'CLOCK!"

Instead of responding like a Space Marine and shooting the gunner between the eyes immediately, Maxson dove for cover behind a metal pillar. Titus's eyes widened, and he joined the others in taking cover. Titus thanked the Emperor – the architect of the place liked thick pillars.

A rain of green tracers filled the corridor, keeping the group pinned, but the rat gunner had little concern for friendly fire. "RATATATAT-TAT!" it cackled, as its brethren exploded into fountains of blood. One of the projectiles ricocheted off the wall, hitting Merrill in the leg just as she was trying to fend off one of the man-rats lucky enough to evade the gunner's fire.

"Breed-Breed!" it giggled, just before Titus threw his knife, the large blade burying itself in its skull.

"MERRILL!" shouted Warrick over the din of gunfire, "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!"

"I'll be okay!" she cried, as she quickly tied a tourniquet around her thigh to stop the bleeding. There would be time for proper first aid later.

The gunner stopped firing, and Titus took a quick glance out of cover to find out why – its large weapon was hissing steam, and it had just switched to a smaller, but no less deadly grenade launcher. Behind it, more man-rats were on the way, not caring one bit that the gunner had murdered almost a hundred of their numbers.

Not trusting Maxson to shoot on time, Titus aimed his Bolt Pistol at the rat gunner's grenade launcher and fired and both it and the swarm behind it were obliterated by the combined explosions of a single bolt blast and six chambered grenades.

It was quiet again.

"Are you alright, Specialist?" said Titus, as he recovered the knife from the rat-man's corpse near her. She had opened up her medkit, ready to pull out the projectile buried in her thigh. She screamed, dropping the long surgical pliers on the ground.

Titus quickly knelt besides her as Warrick stopped Maxson from checking on her. "You keep an eye out, boy."

Maxson began to protest. "But..!"

"Let the Marine handle it!"

Titus tore off the cloth over her wound, and his eyes widened. The hole was beginning to _twist_ , and it was sucking flesh into a tiny green ember. The bone could be heard slowly cracking under the strain, warped by an an invisible swirl of dark energy, emanating from the glowing round buried in Merrill's flesh.

"TAKE IT OUT!" screamed Merrill. "PLEASE! IT HURTS!"

As the Specialist cried in agony, Titus picked up the pliers and took precious seconds taking out disinfectant from the medkit. Cleaning the tool was paramount: it was covered in the man-rat's tainted blood, and Titan did not want to save Merrill to survive all this only to die of a mere infection. "Specialist," he said, as he held her leg tight with one hand to keep it in place, pliers wielded in the other. "I am no apothecary, so this will hurt immensely."

The pliers quickly found their way to the bullet, and as it was yanked out Merrill screamed twice as loud.

[V]

* * *

 **-Infirmary-**

* * *

"Thank the Emperor, an infirmary!" Titus exclaimed at the sign, after the man-rats' skulls had been thoroughly crushed under his bare heels. The creatures had been trying to pry their way in with crowbars, but the thick sliding door held fast, long enough for Titus and his group to deal with them in melee.

Seeing as he was carrying Merrill on his back, Titus had to resort to kicks.

"There should be some meds in there potent enough to get Merrill back on her feet," said Warrick, as he examined what was left of the door's keypad. "Ruined," he stated, and picked up one of the crowbars. "Marine, help me out."

Titus nodded. "Keep watch, Maxson," he said, as he put Merrill down gently by the wall and joined Warrick in forcing the door open. The old Sergeant, to his credit, had already managed to create a gap wide enough for Titus to force his fingers into, allowing the Marine to apply his considerable strength against the door's hydraulics. Within a minute, after much groaning and creaking the door opened... prompting the infirmary's sole occupant to fire his weapon.

"G-G-GET BACK! G-GET BACK! I-I'LL KILL YOU RAT B-B-BASTARDS!" the desperately stuttering screamer punctuated his shouting with laspistol blasts. Though ill-aimed, one of the three rays of light managed to singe Titus' hair before he moved to cover.

"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" yelled Warrick. "WE'RE FRIENDLIES!"

The shots stopped, and there was a moment of awkward silence before the nervous voice made itself heard again. "A-a-are you humans? Like, real humans?"

"Yeah, we are!" Warrick replied, putting his hand in front of the open door. "See? No fur!"

"Oh... Oh! Thank the Emperor."

Titus peered inside the infirmary, and saw a man emerging from behind a chirurgeon's trolley. His thin frame was wrapped in the colours of the Imperial Navy, while his bespectacled face had gone pale due to stress, contrasting sharply with his dark hair. His sidearm was still drawn, but no longer pointed at the door, inviting the group in.

"Are you the apothecary?" asked Titus. "We have wounded."

"You do?"

In response, Titus picked Merrill up and brought her into the infirmary.

"Oh, Emperor!" the man's face was bled dry of fear upon seeing the wounded woman, and quickly replaced by concern. "Get her on that table, now!" He quickly began the work to mend Merrill's injured leg, and Titus got his answer.

[V]

* * *

The doctor quickly and expertly sutured Merrill's leg, after he had ensured her survival by repairing the torn blood vessel that had slowly been killing her. As he finished his work, Warrick raided the cupboards and drawers for any portable medicines, while Titus had a look around the infirmary. Its walls were surprisingly clean —

PLEASE

LET ME DIE

— A lesser man would have grasped his skull with both hands at the headache caused by the flash of memory, but Titus merely winced, and resumed walking about the infirmary.

"Are you alright?" asked Warrick. "You seemed in a trance, for a moment."

"I'm alright," said Titus. "Just a headache."

"Ah well." Warrick tossed him a bottle of pills, and Titus caught it casually. Painkillers. "This oughta help with that."

The chamber was of average size for a cruiser this large, meant to provide preventive and emergency care for at least two dozen people. Ward beds festooned with well-maintained diagnostic machines were partitioned from each other with cloth screens, while metal panels divided the room further into an examination room, an emergency surgery room, a doctor's office and a nurse's desk.

The nurse in question was lying on the floor dead, killed mid-transformation by several laspistol shots to the chest and head. More corpses were laying around – the man-rats by laser shot, the humans by the dead creatures' hands and teeth, evidently.

Curiosity compelled Titus to part the sheets hiding a particular bed. He was greeted by the sight of a dead woman, covered in her own blood. Her belly had been gnawed from the inside out by a rat creature the size of a babe, which had had much of its flesh flash-boiled away by laser fire.

The voids in its body — its meat — were the size of a child's fist, and were still smoking, if only slightly. The few trails of vapors had been enough for Titus to be hit hard by the smell of cooked baby rat, making his stomach growl.

Once the doctor's work was done, Titus approached him to talk, if only to distract himself from thoughts of food. "Will she be alright?" Titus asked, genuinely concerned.

"She'll be fine," replied the doctor professionally, eyes fixed on the diagnosticator. "That tourniquet held fast..." he pointed at the intravenous injection system clamped on Merrill's arm. "So the plasma infusion won't take long. Veins are reconnected... but the damage to the bone will require specialized care. She won't be able to use her leg for a while." Satisfied at the diagnosticator's results, he turned to Titus, and looked up at him, awed by his size. "Ah... n-n-name's Orser," the man introduced himself, his voice nasal. "I-I'm sorry about earlier, I thought you were one of those things, ah, Sir...?"

"Valorius Titus," replied the Marine to Orser's expectant tone, before introducing the rest of the group. "And it is quite alright, you had just gone through a harrowing ordeal." Titus nodded slightly at the pregnant woman's bed.

Orser sighed miserably, and Titus put a hand on his shoulder.

"Forgive me for asking, but... are you a Space Marine?"

Since explaining his exact situation would have taken up far, far too much time and raised an equal amount of suspicion, Titus merely nodded. It was technically correct – after all, he still had the same bio-augmentations of a Space Marine.

"Oh!" Orser radiated relief as he made the sign of the aquila. "Emperor be praised! He sent us his angels of death! I..." The doctor was about to prostrate before Titus, before realizing two big problems. "Wait, where's your armor? And where are the other Marines?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Orser," said Warrick, carrying several hypos filled with stimulants and four packets of somatic gel patches, ready to be distributed. "But the other Marines are dead or dying. Hell, they were the first to go."

"That's..." Orser stammered, becoming pale once more. "No! That's impossible!"

Inwardly, Titus agreed. Warrick must have caught his expression, because what he said next was directed at him. "They were hit in waves, and they wasted those oversized rounds of theirs in three round bursts. Once their mags ran out they were swarmed, and those little crystal weapons tore up their fancy armour." He turned to Orser. "Angels of death aren't coming to save us, doctor."

"Oh..." Orser looked like he was about to faint. "Then what hope do WE have of surviving?"

Warrick sat Orser down on a stool, and explained his plan.

"I-I-I'm no soldier," said Orser. "The hangar's too far, I'd be of no use to you in a fight!"

Warrick smiled. "That's alright, I've got something else in mind for you."

[V]

* * *

 **-Section 4, Main hallway-**

* * *

Sitting on a wheelchair, injected with both anesthetics and stimulants, Merrill was what known on some worlds as 'high as a kite'. This was a good thing, because it kept her from screaming her head off as Orser pushed her chair as fast as he could, trying desperately to stay ahead of the horde of man-rats chasing them.

"MEAT-MEAT!" the man-rats chanted. "TASTY MAN-THINGS' MEAT-SWEET-MEATS!"

Orser, who was not medicated and fully aware of their situation, screamed loud enough for the both of them.

"KEEP RUNNING, ALL OF YOU!" shouted Warrick. "WE'RE ALMOST THERE!" The sergeant didn't actually know how close they were to their goal.

Maxson reloaded Merril's SMG — which was quite the feat while sprinting — and he sprayed a burst of bullets at the horde. Sweeping at the creatures' knees, as Titus had told him, the soldier managed to slow the stampeding rats down, but just a bit. "HOW MUCH FARTHER?!"

"NOT..." Orser gasped, out of breath. "NOT LONG NOW! TURN LEFT! WE NEED TO TURN LEFT HERE!"

The group turned left, and the elevator doors could be seen down the corridor, with only a few rats in the way. Titus stopped to take aim with Maxson's scoped autogun, perforating the skull of every man-rat in their way.

Not a shot was wasted.

Orser was the first to arrive at the elevator controls. "Come on... come on..." the button blinked under his repeated pressing, urged by the slowly approaching horde, barely kept at bay by the soldiers. Orser looked up – the express elevator cabin was just a few floors away. The doors slipped open just as Maxson ran out of ammo for his weapon.

"GET IN! GET IN!" urged Orser as he pushed Merrill's chair inside. The Guardsmen followed him in as Titus covered their retreat by flailing his knife wildly, beheading as many as four man-rats with each swing. He was the last to get in, but the doors refused to close. Their foes, grinning, kept their hands on the doors, triggering the safeties. Even as Titus killed them, more hands set themselves on the edges of the door.

"Trapped! You are trapped, man-things!" cackled one of the rats. "Time to die-die soon!"

"Give me the girl-meat!" snarled another. "Give her! And mercy I shall give!"

Even under the fog of the drugs, Merrill felt a pang of fear. "Nuh... no, please!"

"Like hell!" bellowed Warrick, firing his weapon into the horde. "Orser! Override the doors!"

"How?!" Orser protested. He was a doctor, not a tech.

"Are you kidding me?! Pull the goddamned lever!"

Orser looked, and truly enough, right next to the array of floor buttons, there was a large lever with the words "Emergency closure" engraved above it. "Oh!" He quickly pulled it down, and the door's hydraulics shut the doors so fast the few rats that had managed to get half-way past them were bisected from skull to heel, their halves falling on the floor at Titus' feet.

The group breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator made its way up to a higher level. Maxson sat down, leaning back against the wall, while Warrick slapped some Somatic Gel patches on the young soldier's wounds.

"Check your ammo, people," ordered the Sergeant. "How are we doing?"

Titus and Maxson's reports could be summed up as 'not well'. Titus only had the one full magazine, and Maxson had spent all of his SMG ammo creating walls of rat-meat the horde had to climb over. He was down to his snub-nosed lasgun and its single power cell, which meant that as far as stopping power went, he was down to nothing.

"And my drum of shells is half-spent," stated Warrick.

"Uh, ah..." Orser stammered. "There's a security office on the way to the hangar, not to mention a checkpoint... there should be some ammo and weapons there, I think?"

Warrick shook his head. "The rats are avid looters – the lockers have no doubt already been thoroughly pilfered."

[V]

* * *

 **\- Hangar Bay 4 Security Checkpoint -**

* * *

The elevator doors slid open, and the group of survivors came upon a man-rat with a bag slung over its shoulder. "Miiiiine mine mine!" it slurred as it looked about, looking for more things to fill the sack. It also had a goat's horn on its belt, and after beholding the group in bemused surprise, its eyes widened as it reached for the instrument, intent on blowing into it to summon the horde.

Lasgun beams flash-boiled its blood, and after a few loud pops and sizzles the rat was quite dead.

"Well done, Maxson," congratulated Titus.

"Thank you, sir," replied Maxson.

Warrick took a quick look around at the Security checkpoint, and for a moment he thought he was in a starport. As predicted, the security booth had been broken into, and through the broken windows he could see that the weapon lockers were empty.

"Fat loot!" giggled Merrill.

Warrick looked to see what Merrill was fussing about, and indeed the sack had been filled with a great deal of loot – gaming dice, bottles of green beer, some medical supplies... and cartons of ammunition, some of which matched their firearms.

"And no extra magazines to put them in," lamented Maxson, who had discarded his empty magazines during the earlier chase. Titus, for his part had kept one in his pocket.

"The man-rat looter probably discarded them as useless metal boxes," said Titus.

"Let's check the place," ordered Warrick. "We're bound to find some."

[V]

* * *

The group managed to find some spare magazines, and used the sack of munitions to replenish their ammunition. The security offices had less to offer, though there had been some hope when Titus found a locked room. After forcing his way in, all he found was a naval security officer, dead with a laspistol in his mouth.

Finally, they came upon the large double doors of the Hangar Bay 4, and Orser began to toy around with the access pad's wires. As he worked, Warrick and Titus stacked up on the sides of the opening, ready to pounce on anything unfriendly behind it.

"They teach that at doctor school, doc?" asked Maxson, who pushed a sleeping Merrill away from the front of the door. He could see that the doctor seemed to know what he was doing.

"I uh, I had other interests as a child," replied the doctor.

"Thought you weren't a tech," accused Warrick.

"S-s-still not, but hot-wiring an elevator panel while man-rats scream for your blood... well, it's hard, alright?"

Warrick rolled his eyes.

"Well, thank the Emperor for that," stated Maxson, "because we'd look stupid getting so close to the goal only to be foiled by a damned door."

That earned a small chuckle from Orser. "Almost done..." there was a brief spark as Orser put two open wires together, and as the doors slid open...

[V]

* * *

 **\- Hangar Bay 4 -**

* * *

...The screams and roars of sustained gunfire that it been holding back washed over the survivors.

"You three, stay here!" commanded Warrick. "Titus, with me!"

Titus and Warrick emerged onto a walkway overseeing the vast hangar, their own guns roaring at armored man-rats armed with their own twisted versions of the Imperial lasrifle. Down below, a full platoon of Kaladan Fusilliers had entrenched themselves by a small starship's loading ramp, using cargo crates as fortification. Atop the alien vessel stood a figure clad in a green cloak, armed with a two-pronged weapon that spat lightning. Titus was impressed at his handiwork: there were no less than three Rat-Marines dead with holes in their skulls, and they had died far from the fort of crates.

"...That's a Tau!" Titus exclaimed, shocked, and then he beheld the ship the Tau was standing on – it was painted black with white trim, and there were components of a technology he had never seen before, but the lines and curves were unmistakable. "And that's a Tau ship! What are they doing here of all places?!"

"Who cares?!" Warrick shouted back. "Incoming at your 3 o'clock!

Titus and Warrick's timely arrival had prevented the soldiers from being overwhelmed, as the man-rat soldiers on the walkway turned their aim at the two fighters, forcing them into cover.

The Lieutenant leading the remaining Fusilliers, a bearded bald man with a mildly-decorated uniform, saw them. "Duncan! Thufir!" he shouted at his remaining marksmen. "Friendlies on the catwalk! Support them!"

Long-las shots having ignited the very brains of their attackers, Warrick and Titus stormed the walkway, killing every rat threatening the platoon below. A Rat-Gunner, having just emerged from a large airvent above, suddenly found himself alone with no support whatsoever, or even a single rat to delay his inevitable doom in the form a large, half-naked 'man-thing' charging at him with a really big knife.

It barely had time to scream.

"Cover me!" shouted Titus at Warrick. "I'm commandeering the xeno weapon!"

As Warrick took on all comers with his shotgun, Titus worked quickly in fastening the rat-gunner's large ammo drum to his own back, and heaved the chainsaw-gripped, crystal powered rotary magnetic gun over the handrails and loosed a rain of green shot at the swarm below. Warrick aided in the slaughter, having claimed the rat-gunner's grenade launcher for himself and making very effective use of it.

When the drum was empty, Titus' weapon died, its last gasps of life the crackle of green warp energies. Nevertheless, it had claimed the lives of well over three hundred man-rats, ending this small part of the battle in Mankind's favour. The men, who had thought themselves utterly doomed, cheered at their victory, survival, and their saviours.

"QUIET!" shouted the Lieutenant, "This is not over! Check your battery packs! Re-fill your magazines!" He looked up at Warrick and smiled. "Warrick! I see that you're still alive!"

"Lieutenant Halleck!" Warrick saluted casually, having discarded the spent grenade launcher. "I live through no fault of my own, I assure you!" Just then, Maxson, Orser and Merrill came through, curious at the sudden silence. "I have wounded, Sir! Permission to let them aboard..." he hesitated, now that he saw that his hope of escaping had been a Xeno ship all along. "... the xeno ship, sir?"

"Permission granted! The owners of this filthy Xeno ship won't mind!"

A quick nod from Warrick, and Orser and Maxson were prompted to help Merrill down the metal catwalk's steps. Titus and Warrick were about to join them, but Halleck stopped them.

"Hold!" he bellowed. "I need someone at the control room!" he pointed at a large metal pod bolted to the ceiling, festooned with windows so that the crew within could overlook the whole hangar. It was at least a hundred meters away, and four stories above them. By the looks of it, the control chamber could not be accessed from the catwalk. "I sent a squad out there!"

"They're no doubt already dead, Sir!" Warrick replied.

"Perhaps, and thus their mission remains unfulfilled!" he gestured at the vast opening of the hangar with his chainsword. It was closed off by thick, armoured panels. "They were to open the way out, and now the task falls upon you!"

"Oh, bloody hell," cursed Warrick. He looked at the control room again, and could make out the shapes of more rats.

"Belay that, Sergeant," Titus told Warrick quietly. He turned to to Halleck, raising his voice to be heard. "I will go in his stead! I have a better chance of succeeding! Let Warrick join his men!"

The balding officer glared up at Titus. "And who in the Eye of Terror are YOU to order my men and I around?!"

"Valorious Titus," came the reply. " _Space Marine."_

And that was that.

[V]

* * *

— **Hangar Bay 4 Control Room—**

* * *

The way up to the control room had been eerily quiet, and devoid of any danger. That worried Titus greatly – such calm could not last.

"This is Titus," the Space Marine said out loud. Warrick had given him his compact Vox-Caster to stay in communication. "I'm inside the control room." He shot a wounded man-rat. "Clear, no hostiles."

" _And my men?"_ asked Lieutenant Halleck over the channel. His tone was not hopeful.

"They're dead," said Titus, seeing the corpses of the Fusilliers that had fought and died here. Twice their number in man-rats lay dead with them. "They fought well, Lieutenant."

" _...Emperor watch their souls..."_ Halleck prayed, then refocused his attention on the task at hand. He relayed the surviving sailors' instructions on how to open the gateway keeping the Xeno ship trapped, which Titus followed to the letter.

"There," said Titus as he pressed one last button and pulled one last lever. A voice rang out over the hangar's vox system, warning the work crew of the impending opening of the bay doors.

" _ **Warning: Hangar doors will open in... calculating... calculating... warning, low power. Doors will open in —FIVE— minutes. ERROR...Atmospheric shield is non-functional. Staff with no space gear are to evacuate the bay immediately."**_

Alarms blared, and klaxons screamed, and seconds later more man-rats streamed through every vent of of the hangar.

"Curse the man who made them so wide!" he spat. "Lieutenant! I'm on my way!"

[V]

* * *

— **Hangar Bay 4—**

* * *

For four minutes, there were no end to them. Halleck had been the first to fall, killed by an knife-wielding assassin too quick for the Tau sniper to hit before it disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Warrick to rally the men into one last defense before the bay door opened. Titus had managed to cut a path back to the crate fort, and joined the defense. The Tau sniper had retreated back to his ship half-way through the countdown. _Coward_ , Titus cursed him inwardly, _just like the rest of his race!_

The Fusilliers' power packs were being drained dry, their magazines were becoming light, and their courage began to run low.

"HOLD FAST, MEN!" Warrick bellowed. "JUST A FEW SECONDS MORE!"

"HOLD FAST!" echoed Titus, louder.

"DIE FAST!" echoed the horde in unison. "DIE FAST!"

" _ **30 Seconds until hangar gate opens. Please evacuate now."**_

That was when IT appeared: a man-rat, larger than a dreadnought and with just as much armour bolted onto its flesh. The lumbering giant approached, crushing its smaller brethren underfoot, and as it got closer it brought its arms to bear.

Its hands were Melta-cannons.

"Oh no," muttered Warrick, as the beams of heat began to tear into the hull. "We've lost."

Without a word, Titus picked up Halleck's sword and unholstered his bolter pistol, and waded through man-rats — living and dead alike — to engage the giant in melee, but not before unloading his bolt pistol into the melta-cannons, ruining their function. Titus' task was not done, however: the rat-giant would still charge past the Fusilliers and destroy the ship from within.

Not unless it was busy fighting for its life.

And that was a fight Titus was more than willing to give.

"TITUS!" shouted Warrick. "NOOO! GET BACK INTO LINE!"

With a running start, the forsaken marine charged at the giant, and it replied in kind. Quickly, just as its ruined hands were about to ram into him, Titus slid on his knees, avoiding the giant's swing, and allowing him to give the creature's groin a taste of high-velocity chainsaw teeth. Titus emerged behind it as it fell on its knees screaming, and climbed onto its back. Unexpectedly, the creature got back on its feet, and attempted to shrug Titus off.

"Kill the man-thiiiiiing!" screeched one of the man-rats as they joined the fray, attempting to jump on the giant's back and kill Titus, eager to claim his head as a prize... only to be stomped by the rat-giant's feet or knocked away by its flailing arms.

" _ **15 Seconds until hangar gate opens. Please evacuate now."**_

"TITUS!" shouted Warrick once more.

"GO!" Titus yelled, desperately trying to deliver a killing blow to the giant's brain. "GO WHILE YOU STILL CAN!"

"Sir!" yelled a private. "We can't help him!"

"We're out of time!" yelled another.

"We need to flee! Warn the Imperium of these creatures! The Marine is dead, let his death not be in vain."

It was all true, Warrick knew, and with a grim resignation he gave the order. "Get to the ship." Damn it all to hell. "GET TO THE SHIP!" he bellowed again. The guardsmen ran up the loading ramp, with Warrick the last to go. He took one last look at Titus before smashing the large red button that retracted the ramp and closed the bay door.

" **Five seconds..."**

Titus knew he wasn't going to survive this, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least kill this disgusting creature. It bucked and leapt, but he held fast, occasionally striking armour with the chainsword, hoping that something would come off and expose something vital.

" **four seconds."**

Eventually, the thing that came off was Titus himself. Thrown off the giant's back, he landed on top of a few man-rats, sending them sprawling to the ground.

" **One second."**

The smaller man-rats began to swarm over Titus, crystal picks in hand, ready to tear him apart.

" **Hangar bay doors opening."**

The air began to rush out through the widening maw, sending every rat in the bay flying. Titus tried to hold on to a piece of railing, only to be rushed by the giant rat. It barreled into him, sending them both tangled together into the void.

Titus exhaled, and suppressed the pain of his blood boiling as his skin was exposed to the airless emptiness of space. Holding on tightly to the beast's fur, he buried his combat knife into its brain, and turned its head so that the rat-giant's eye could behold the cause of its death.

Titus pushed himself off the rat-giant's corpse, and watched as the Tau ship escaped. He held no hope of rescue, and none came, for streaks of weapons fire chased after the ship. Titus looked at their source.

It was an Imperial ship.

 _Traitors?_ Thought Titus. No... _he took a better look at it: it was indeed an Imperial cruiser, but it has had piece from other ships bolted onto it to make it space worthy, the glorious white and gold of its once pristine church like form hull marred by the black and green of corrupted industry. it has been corrupted by the touch of these Xenos._

The Tau helmsman — was it the Tau? — proved to be capable, and dodged and weaved through laser fire and crystal bolts. Despite this, Titus lamented not being to help.

He didn't have to. Something exploded inside the enemy ship, robbing it of power. Titus wondered what caused it, but he supposed it didn't matter – the Tau ship escaped, opening a gate to the surface of the Warp that would take it elsewhere, hopefully to the nearest Imperial outpost. He hoped that he hadn't helped the Tau get more auxilliaries...

 _No._

He had done his part. He had helped servants of the Emperor escape with their lives and in doing so ended the lives of their enemies by the hundreds.

 _This is a good death_ , thought Titus, as his blood boiled, slowly killing him. _This is the death of a Space Marine, not a forsaken and forgotten heretic. This is what I wanted._

He closed his eyes, and waited to welcome death.

[V]

* * *

 _Valorius Titus. I have watched you, I have seen your deeds, and I have seen the contents of your heart._

 _You have shown relentlessness in the face of your enemy._

 _You have shown selflessness in the face of adversity._

 _You have shown valour in the face of death._

 _And for that, you have been chosen._

[V]

* * *

A blue sphere of light surrounded Titus...

[V]

* * *

 _Come._

 _Now is not the day you die._

[V]

* * *

...and when he opened his eyes, there was the warmth of sunlight, the chirping of birds, and the face of a curious child looking down at him.

 **End of Chapter 1: The Heretic.**

* * *

 **Author's notes:** Before you ask... No, this is not a crossover with Exalted. That being said, there are mysterious powers at work here, and they look to Titus with great interest... among others.

In any case, Stay tuned for Act 1 Chapter 2: The Inquisitor.

* * *

 **Special thanks to my extra-generous Patrons: SomeguyOverHere, Pengu1n, Scythe967, Austin, and Jchan!**

 **Extra Special thanks to Kalaong and Another Grey, my top Patrons, and WarpObscura for the spellchecking!**

 **If you wish to support this fanfic, look up 'robotforge' on P-a-t-r-e-o-n and become a patron, or share this story on your little corner of the internet!**


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